


Stars on the Soles of His Shoes

by Reioka



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Ballet, Background Relationships, Ballerino Tony, F/M, Hurt/Comfort, Letters, M/M, Mutual Pining, Oblivious Natasha Romanov, Shoemaker Bucky
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-13
Updated: 2018-10-13
Packaged: 2019-08-01 17:13:11
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,116
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16288562
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Reioka/pseuds/Reioka
Summary: Against all odds (his father), Tony manages to make it as a professional ballerino and falls in love with the man who makes his shoes through notes.





	Stars on the Soles of His Shoes

**Author's Note:**

> So this all started with a post someone sent me on Tumblr and then someone offered to trade me art if I wrote it:
> 
> "Hi, hello, so the ballet stuff from a hot minute ago. Well, today I learned a thing, & it made me stupid grin. So here it is: Ballerina's go through a crap-load of shoes in a year. All their shoes are handmade with specifications just for them, & they usually stick with one shoemaker (once they find one they like) for their whole career. Each shoemaker has a special mark that they sign their shoes with.  
> They almost never meet their shoemaker, but often send them gifts of thanks and sometimes call them their “solemates”. Imagine, if you will, ballet dancer Tony. He finally find the perfect shoemaker. Along with his shoes, the maker send little notes of encouragement. Tony begins sending letters and gifts back, eventually falling in love with his shoemaker (whom he has never met) whose signature, stamped into the sole of every single pair of Tony’s shoes, is a little red star. OwO"

Stars on the Soles of His Shoes

 

It started with Maria.

 

Well, that wasn’t entirely true. It had started with Ana saying perhaps Tony wouldn’t cause quite so much damage to the mansion’s electronics if he had something to focus his energy on. Jarvis had taken Tony to sign up for an activity and had let him choose which one he wanted to do, wisely deciding that if Tony didn’t like his activity, he would become even more destructive at home.

 

Tony had been shy, and had to be cajoled. The lady helping them sign up had pushed him toward sports, because most little boys liked them, but he was already starting to get bullied by boys in school, and they used gym class to pick on him physically. None of the girls were that mean to him, though, and he noticed a lot of girl names on one list, so he’d pointed to that one.

 

Howard had pitched a fit when he learned Tony had signed up for ballet, but Maria had coldly told him, “Any professional ballerino could snap your neck with his thighs.” Then she’d told him in no uncertain terms that he could either keep buying electronics for the house without scolding Tony, or let him practice ballet. Howard mulishly allowed Tony to stay signed up for ballet.

 

So it started with Ana and Jarvis, but Maria had finished it.

 

Tony only realized he might have made a mistake when he was the only boy that turned up to class, and all the girls were looking at him curiously. He didn’t have a chance to bail, though, because Jarvis was already sitting down with his things, and the teacher had welcomed him in warmly. She seemed to sense his hesitancy and said, “Ladies, if you’re good and help Anthony, maybe we can celebrate the end of class with lifts.”

 

All of the girls were excited for lifts, so they welcomed Tony with open arms.

 

It was exhausting, but fun, and probably the best thing that had ever happened to Tony, because suddenly he had friends—tiny ones, but fierce: Natasha pushed Tony technically, and Jan insisted that he have fun, and Jane talked about the stars with him, and Sharon helped him practice whenever they were both visiting Aunt Peggy, and Darcy showed him how to close his fist so he wouldn’t break his thumb if he ever had to punch someone. Even after some of the girls left ballet, either growing out of it or finding other interests, they kept in contact.

 

Howard pitched a fit when Tony decided to become a professional ballerino, but at that point, Tony didn’t care what Howard thought. He only went to school because Maria had asked him to get a degree to fall back on when he could no longer perform. He thought Maria’s request was more reasonable than his father’s.

 

Tony joined a troupe with Natasha, and they debuted in  _The Firebird_  together, and the rest was history.

 

.-.-.-.

 

 _I saw you in **The Sleeping Beauty**. You were perfect. I enjoyed seeing you as Prince Désiré. I haven’t been so enchanted since I saw you play Solor in  **La Bayadere**. It’s always a pleasure to see my art help you with yours. _ ⭐

 

Tony smiled and ran his thumb over the little red star that served as a signature. He hadn’t thought that the man who made his shoes would actually go see his performances. Then again, he clearly loved ballet, at least to the point that it was his livelihood. Perhaps he liked seeing his product in use.

 

“You gonna kiss your love note or not?” Natasha asked, snapping her gum at him obnoxiously.

 

“Rude,” Tony answered immediately. “You’re rude.” But he  _did_  press a kiss to the note anyway.

 

Natasha wrinkled her nose at him. “Gross. Why don’t you kiss your shoes, too?”

 

“Don’t pretend you’re not jealous,” Tony scoffed.

 

Natasha remained unmoved. “I’m not jealous. You’ve been pining after this guy since your mother got him to make your shoes. You know he makes quality shoes for other people, right?”

 

“I—know that,” Tony answered defensively. Because he did know that, despite what his friends might think. Hell, the guy made Natasha’s pointes, so it’s not like he could even pretend he didn’t. “Of course I know that.”

 

“You should let me set you up on a date,” Natasha suggested. “Have some fun. Date an actual person instead of a scrap of paper and some shoes. Maybe get a dick up your ass instead of that massive stick—”

 

Tony gasped, scandalized. “I’ll have you know I have exactly zero sticks up my ass, you absolutely horrible friend!”

 

“Hmmm, seems fake,” Natasha replied, and snapped her gum again. “Whatever. I’ll just set up Steve again.”

 

Tony turned back to her, interested now. “Can I sit behind a potted plant with you and watch him crash and burn again?”

 

“I don’t know why he’s so bad at dating,” Natasha complained, spinning slowly in her chair as she thought about it. “He never has this much trouble on our practice dates.”

 

“I have no idea why that might be,” Tony lied, straight-faced, and watched her huff in annoyance as she tried to figure out why Steve could go on dates with her and not anyone else. When he gave his Man of Honor speech at their wedding, he was going to cite these incidents viciously.

 

Instead of telling her that, though, he turned back to his desk and penned off a quick response before he got wrapped up in sneaking after Steve on another Bad Date.

 

_I’m so glad you got to see my performance! Your shoes never fail to impress me. Next time I’ll definitely be thinking of you when I take the stage. :) I only wish I could wear pointes more often. Your work is even lovelier on them and I wish I could truly appreciate it as much as the ballerinas. I look forward to the next pair, tesoro mio._

 

.-.-.-.

 

 _Of course I go to your shows, Tony. I go to as many as I can. One of my favorite techniques to watch you perform is the saut de basque. Cabrioles are beautiful to watch as well. It helps that your legs go on for miles. I’ve said before that I didn’t really choose this job, the job chose me, and sounded pretty bitter about it. I’m not bitter anymore, not after watching you fly across that stage wearing shoes I made. Thank you for that, Tony. I appreciate it more than you’ll ever know._  ⭐

 

“Your face is on fire,” Natasha said, leaning in very close to his face.

 

Tony screeched and jerked away from her, falling out of his chair. “Nat!”

 

Natasha smirked, raising an eyebrow. “What did your ‘tesoro’ say? Did he tell you something racy? Have you guys progressed to lurid correspondence? Did he send you a picture of his dick?”

 

“Don’t be gross!” Tony exclaimed, flushing darker, and yelped when she snatched the note from his hands. “Natasha!”

 

“What did he say that turned you into a tomato?” Natasha asked, grinning wickedly, and used her foot to hold him down so she could read it. “Did he proposition you? Did he give you a place to meet?”

 

“Give it back!” Tony whined, reaching up weakly.

 

“Ooh, your legs go on for miles,” she said gleefully. “How brazen.” She was going to continue teasing him, but then she got to the end. “Oh,” she whispered, and dropped her hand to return the note to him. “Sorry.”

 

Tony snatched it back and held it to his chest, blushing. He waited for her to leave before he got up off the floor and climbed back into his seat.

 

Yes, his shoemaker had told him how he’d mostly been forced into the role, when he’d been young and poor and had needed to help feed his younger sisters back in his home country. He’d been bitter about it for years–he’d wanted to go to school, be an engineer, or a mechanic, or something like that. He’d done as asked (he adored his little sisters, after all) and had done well for himself, and he was mostly happy with how his life had turned out. He’d always been resentful for his beginning though.

 

And Tony had made him forget all that, if only for a moment.

 

Tony clutched the note to his chest, hands shaking, and wondered if he was reading into it too much. He couldn’t be though, could he? He’d been as much as told that he’d been the one to make him feel better about his art. He couldn’t be misconstruing that. Could he? What if he was only seeing what he wanted to see because he was pining?

 

Tony got up so he could pull the box full of notes out from under his bed, each of them carefully dated and filed from years of correspondence. He started from the beginning, a simple note jotted down like an afterthought, a quick  _Hope you like the shoes_. The second note had come with a handful or Russian toffees, just as brusque but softened with the sweets. The notes had gotten warmer the more Tony had replied, until finally they had accumulated in him being told that his dancing had kept his shoemaker from feeling so bitter about the job that had been forced on him. Tony didn’t think he was overreaching for thinking that there was something more there.

 

He went through the notes one more time before going back to his desk to write his response.

 

_I appreciate that, tesoro mio. I was so flattered to read that my performance could make you forget your bitterness that it about knocked the breath out of me. At this point, it’s not a new pair of shoes that excites me anymore–it’s your notes that come with them. I love hearing from you, even if it’s just a sentence or two. It always brightens my day._

 

Tony was pretty sure he would have continued on and embarrassed himself (would his tesoro still make his shoes if he confessed his undying love to him?) except then the door to his room opened again and a styrofoam cup was set just inside.

 

Tony recognized the red nail polish. “You can come in, you know. I’m only a little mad at you still.”

 

“I am still too ashamed to show my face.”

 

“Natasha.”

 

“Leave me to wallow in my misery,” Natasha said and shut the door again.

 

Tony rolled his eyes and got up to go over to the door. He pulled it open and leaned out. “ _Natasha_.”

 

Natasha hissed and disappeared back into her own room. “ _Wallow_ , I said.”

 

“I will let you wallow for fifteen minutes,” Tony sighed. “And then we’re going to binge-watch  _The Land Before Time_. You only made it through half of the first one.”

 

“Never,” Natasha said, muffled by her door. “You won’t trick me with that sad nonsense.”

 

“It has a happy ending, Natasha.”

 

“My wallowing doesn’t start until you leave me alone.”

 

Tony bit back a retort and instead started the timer on his phone, because he was still mad enough to be petty about this. He leaned down to pick up the cup and took a sip.

 

When he realized it wasn’t a green smoothie, like he’d thought, and was actually a mocha milkshake from his favorite diner, he figured he could cut Natasha a little slack.

 

.-.-.-.

 

Tony had always known that being the son of Howard Stark could be dangerous. He just hadn’t thought he’d be a target after he went toward ballet instead of explosives. He didn’t know why he’d thought otherwise, though. He and Janet were from two very influential families. Of course they’d still be targets.

 

“Tony,” Jan whispered, tears in her eyes, as she clasped his hand in both of hers and rocked back and forth beside him where he was lying on the ground. “Tony, Tony, Tony.”

 

“Don’t look at it,” Tony said, gripping her hand tight.

 

“Tony, your  _leg_.”

 

“Don’t look at it,” Tony repeated sharply.

 

Jan let out a sob. “You should have let them do it to  _me_.”

 

Tony glared up at her, knowing his anger was misplaced but feeling too helpless to do anything about it. “Don’t be stupid, Janet. DO NOT. Look at it. Just keep your eyes on my face.”

 

Jan nodded helplessly, sobbing again, then dipped to instead bury her face in his chest. Tony held her there so she couldn’t turn her head, instead stroking a hand up and down her back. He never would have let their kidnappers torture her, and he knew she knew that. He wouldn’t change anything for the world.

 

But he didn’t look at his leg either.

 

.-.-.-.

 

Tony heard Natasha screaming and opened his eyes, even though it was hard, because he felt floaty and far away. He didn’t know a lot of Russian–he hadn’t had a lot of time to learn around ballet and his school work, and by the time he’d graduated he’d lost interest–but he knew the swears. Natasha’s screams were of anger. ‘Those bastards’ and ‘who would dare’ and ‘I will murder them’ and ‘how could they.’ Tony managed to turn his head to look at his mother.

 

“Yes, dear,” Maria said gently, and stood to go calm Natasha down without him having to say a word.

 

Maria brought Natasha in fifteen minutes later, and it was the worst he’d ever seen her–her mascara had run down her flushed cheeks, and her eyes were red and puffy. Her hands were red as if they’d been hitting something. Maybe the floor or the wall? Maria led Natasha to a seat and helped her take Tony’s hand, then excused herself so they could be alone.

 

Natasha whispered some more threats under her breath before letting out a little sob. “ _Tony_.”

 

“Hi, Natasha,” Tony whispered.

 

Natasha pressed her forehead to the back of his hand. “Who will be my Prince Siegfried now, Tony?”

 

Tony smiled. “You made Odette? Natasha, I’m so happy for you. I knew you could do it.”

 

Natasha managed a smile for all of two seconds before sobbing again. When they’d realized they were the only two from their classes who planned on pursuing ballet as a career, they’d dreamt of playing Odette and Prince Siegfried together. Tony had played Prince Siegfried a couple times, but Natasha was always passed over for Odette. And now that she got to be Odette… Tony couldn’t be her partner. It wasn’t fair.

 

It wasn’t  _fair_.

 

“Natasha,” Tony said gently. “It’s okay.”

 

“It’s not,” she answered immediately, and then bit her bottom lip. It wasn’t okay. But if Tony wanted to pretend it was, it would be selfish of her to say otherwise. Then she gasped, jerking back in her seat. “Tony, your tesoro!”

 

Tony’s smile faded, and he was glad for the painkillers. He was too floaty to get too distressed about it. “Natasha, they broke my knee,” he said, voice wobbling. “Shattered it into five pieces.”

 

Natasha bit her bottom lip to keep from sobbing again and just held his hand tightly.

 

Tony’s fibula and tibia would heal, and he might have been able to go back to ballet after about six months and some muscle building exercises. But his knee… God, his knee. He’d known he was ruined as soon as that crowbar had hit his kneecap. He might be able to dance again, for fun, but he wouldn’t be able to do the harder moves, the long extensions, the quick leaps. He wouldn’t be able to safely do lifts without the threat of collapsing under the extra weight, of hurting his partner.

 

He wouldn’t go through shoes, wouldn’t be able to show them off. It would be a long time before he could even put the shoes on. His shoe-maker would surely lose interest in him in that time. After all, he’d said Tony’s performances had made him less bitter. What use was Tony to him now, when he might never dance again?

 

“…Natasha,” Tony said after a moment.

 

She sniffed and lifted a hand to dry her eyes quickly. “Yeah?”

 

“I can eat all the junk food I want,” Tony breathed. “I’ve eaten  _seven_  bowls of ice-cream.”

 

Natasha stared at him, aghast, before letting out an ugly braying sound of laughter. She was immediately mortified.

 

“I wish Steve had been here to hear the noise you just made,” Tony lamented. He let his eyes drift closed, forced them open again. “Natasha? I am going back to sleep now.”

 

“Okay,” Natasha answered quietly, stroking her thumb over his knuckles. “Okay, Tony. Go back to sleep.”

 

“Natasha,” Tony said sleepily.

 

She leaned in a little. “Yeah, Tony?”

 

His eyes drifted open a little, and his expression when stern. “Don’t look at my leg. Don’t. It’ll only upset you.”

 

Natasha couldn’t help a little jerk of surprise, but nodded resolutely. “Alright, Tony.”

 

Tony narrowed his eyes at her, but mostly just looked like he was squinting. “Promise.”

 

“I promise,” Natasha agreed easily. She wouldn’t look. She’d already seen it when she came in. She was secretly glad it was Jan with Tony and not her. She’s pretty sure she would have died the moment she saw the crowbar come down on Tony’s knee.

 

Tony looked at her a little longer, then promptly passed out, nearly rolling off his pillow.

 

Natasha laughed again, then clapped a hand over her mouth, embarrassed. God, she was so glad Steve wasn’t here to hear her laughing like an idiot.

 

.-.-.-.

 

On the fourth week of bed rest, Tony handed Natasha a note and asked her to send it to their shoemaker. Natasha agreed quietly and took it from his shaking hand.

 

She peeked before she put it in the envelope and immediately wished she hadn’t, tears rolling down her cheeks as she took in Tony’s looping cursive.

 

_I’m sorry, tesoro mio. I’m so sorry. I hope you’ll find someone else to watch. Goodbye._

 

.-.-.-.

 

“Am I a cyborg now? I feel like I should get to be called a cyborg if I set off security detectors when I go through them now,” Tony said, tipping his head back to look up at Steve. “You’re not wearing your uniform, Steven.”

 

“Maybe I’d be wearing the slutty nurse costume if you’d gotten it in any color other than pink,” Steve replied with good humor. “Also! I’m your physical therapist, not your nurse.”

 

Tony frowned. “What do you have against pink? Too girly for you?”

 

“Nah, pink just washes me out,” Steve said, shrugging. “Makes me look sickly. Or like a vampire. And you had your patella wired back together, Tony, not given an entirely new knee, so you can’t be a cyborg, sorry.”

 

“Mean. I’ll tell Natasha you were mean,” Tony whined. “Also if you’re my physical therapist why do I have to stay in the wheelchair? Why can’t I have my crutches?”

 

Steve scowled down at him. “Because you tried to fucking escape when you finally had crutches, Tony.”

 

Tony opened his mouth, then shut it with a pout. He  _had_  tried to escape. The only reason he hadn’t made it was because Steve had caught him and carried him back into the tiny gym.

 

“Anyway, if you behave, I’ll let you use your crutches in here next week,” Steve said, ruffling his hair. “Come on. We’ll start with ankle pumps today. Sooner you get done, sooner you can meet Natasha for lunch.”

 

“TONY,” Natasha shouted, bolting into the room. She looked harried, wild-eyed and cheeks flushed from running.

 

“Or you can meet Natasha now,” Steve joked, only to let out a startled noise when she shoved him aside. “Nat!”

 

“You’re in my way,” Natasha snapped, then pressed a kiss to his cheek to take some of the sting out of it. She turned to Tony, shoving an envelope in his face. “Here.”

 

Tony took the envelope because he was afraid if he didn’t, Natasha might slap him with it. He turned it over in his hands before looking up at her in confusion. “Natasha, what–”

 

“We’ll leave you alone to read it,” Natasha told him, and tried to surreptitiously push Steve away. When he didn’t move at all, she turned to glare at him. “Oh my God. Steve.”

 

“We’re in the middle of an appointment,” Steve pointed out, putting his hands on his hips. “Just because you guys are my friends–or because you’re my girlfriend–doesn’t mean I can push back all of the appointments after Tony’s because you think he needs to read a letter. Fun fact! We are actually in my place of business and this is my job. Tony, ankle pumps.”

 

“Steve,” Natasha hissed, and then wrapped her hands around the back of his neck so she could drag him down and whisper in his ear.

 

Tony watched Steve’s expression go from annoyance, to confusion, realization, honest joy, and then annoyance again. He had really good facial expressions. Tony didn’t understand why Steve was so bad at playing charades when they hung out.

 

“I don’t need you to blow me for this,” Steve hissed, then blushed when he noticed Tony was watching. “Okay! Sometimes having emotional workouts are good therapy too! So, you do that, and I’m going to go explain to Natasha that I’ve been waiting for her for years so she doesn’t need to use sexual favors when I’m actually wrapped around her little finger and she can just tell me what she wants.”

 

“Good luck,” Tony called out after them as Steve dragged Natasha away, already ranting about all the shitty dates he went on to make her happy and do you think he’d do that for  _anyone else_.

 

Tony waited until they were on the other side of the room, then looked back down at the envelope with a frown. It had no return address on it, so it couldn’t be from one of the places he’d sent an application to, and the front only had his name on it, no actual address. Who could it possibly be from? He was almost afraid to open it. It had to be important, though, for Natasha to have run it in to him, especially since she’d been planning on a quiet yoga session to decompress before she had to return to practice the next day.

 

So he opened it, no matter how nervous he was. And then covered his mouth with one hand so Steve and Natasha wouldn’t hear his surprised sob.

 

 _Tony, I heard about what happened. I’m so very sorry. I fretted for days, thinking about how scared and angry you must have been. Part of why I loved watching you was because you clearly loved to dance. Your passion for it was in every step you took, every turn, every smile and wink you gave to the audience. Someone stole that from you. And I know it’s selfish, but they stole it from me, too. They stole the opportunity to watch you leap across the stage, to watch you lift your partners and move them around like they weigh nothing, to watch you bow at the end of the performance and blow kisses to the audience. I always used to pretend that one of those kisses was specifically for me. Now you’ll never be able to do it again, and it kills me, knowing that you wanted to keep dancing and someone put an end to that.  
I cried when I saw your last note. It seemed to hit home then that you might never dance again, even for fun. You wouldn’t need my shoes. I wouldn’t have an excuse to send you notes. You wouldn’t have a reason to send me any notes back. I hadn’t realized how much I’d loved receiving them, how much I loved to send my own. I realized that I don’t want to live a life without you in it, Tony, even if it’s only through notes. You called me your treasure. Don’t throw me away because you think you’re not what I want anymore. Don’t cut me out of your life.  
I know so much has happened to you recently. You’re still healing physically, and you’re probably still dealing with the trauma of being kidnapped and tortured, and the fact that you might not ever be able to dance again. I have no right to ask for anything from you while you heal. But I want you to have time to think about my request, so I figured I’d put it all down on the line right now and you can do with it what you wish. I care about you, and I still want to be in your life. Will you meet me, Tony? Can we meet face-to-face? Can we be more than just notes and letters to each other?  ~~Can I kiss you?  
~~_ _Reading back, this entire letter is selfish, and I’m sorry. If you don’t want to meet me, you can just ignore the entire thing. Throw it in the trash, or burn it. You can forget about me if you want, if it’ll make you feel better, help you heal. But I hope you’ll give me a chance. We’ve been through so much together, Tony, from when you were just one of the soldiers in the Nutcracker all the way up to when you made Solor in **La Bayadere**. I know I was just a nameless pair of hands making your shoes, but you were the a bright spot in a very dark part of my life to me. If you decide you don’t want to meet, that’s fine. I just couldn’t live with myself knowing I didn’t try to reach out at least once more.  
_ _I hope you’re doing well, Tony. I hope you’ll continue to do well, regardless of whether we meet or not. You deserve it._ ⭐

 

Tony stared down at the letter for a long moment before setting it down on his lap and wrapping his arms around himself. He was broken. He couldn’t even  _walk_  at this point. And he–his shoemaker still wanted to talk to him? Wanted to see him? (…Wanted to… to kiss him?) Tony couldn’t even stand up for a kiss to be comfortable. But maybe… maybe his tesoro wouldn’t care.

 

He didn’t seem like the type to care, anyway. Tony didn’t know him that well outside of the notes and letters, though. Maybe once they met in person, his shoemaker would realize the extent of his injury, see that he was truly never going to get back on the stage. Tony didn’t think he had the strength to handle that, after losing his ability to practice his passion for the last twenty years. He’d been telling himself ‘you would have had to retire soon, anyway,’ and it had helped a little. But on his darkest nights when he was alone and in pain, he thought about how at least he would have had a choice then, to retire; not been savagely beaten and then had his leg broken and his knee shattered.

 

Tony got the feeling that those dark nights would now be accompanied with thoughts of what he would do if his shoemaker turned his back on him.

 

“Steve?” Tony called out, voice cracking.

 

Steve turned from where he was very patiently pointing out that every single bad date he’d been on had been bad because he chose for them to be immediately, frowning. “Everything alright?”

 

Natasha turned too, concerned. If she’d known the letter was going to make Tony cry, she wouldn’t have brought it to him so quickly.

 

Tony stared down at the floor for a while, then looked back up, voice weak as he said, “I want to do ankle pumps.”

 

Steve let out a breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding as he began toward him. “Okay. Okay, yeah, let’s do ankle pumps to warm you up and then practice walking so you don’t run over. You can do all the other laying-down exercises at home, okay?”

 

“Okay,” Tony said, setting the letter aside and reaching out for his hands so that Steve could help pull him up out of the wheelchair. He paused in confusion when Steve just held his arms instead of helping him over to the bench to lie down. “…Steve?”

 

“Everything’s going to be okay. You know that, right?” Steve said after another moment. “I know people have told you that, but I’m saying it now too. Things might not be great, they might not even be  _good_  for a while. But everything is going to be okay, and okay is a very fine thing to be until it can get better, Tony.”

 

Tony swallowed thickly as he was finally eased down onto the bench, blinking back tears. Yes, everyone had been telling him that things would be okay. But hearing Steve say it like that… it made him feel a lot better. He didn’t have to be doing well. He just had to be doing okay.

 

.-.-.-.

 

“I want to be able to walk without help before I meet him,” Tony explained over an extremely decadent lunch of nothing but noodles and meat. “So I might need your help with some of my home exercises.”

 

Natasha raised an eyebrow and tried not to be jealous of the amount of carbs he could eat now that he no longer had a dancer’s diet. “You mean like telling you to do them?”

 

“Haha,” Tony deadpanned. “No, I need you to help me stretch my hamstring.”

 

“I can do that,” Natasha agreed easily. She tried to sneak a noodle off his plate and sighed when he smashed it with his fork and gave her a dirty look. “But you  _are_  going to meet him then?”

 

Tony was silent for a moment, stirring his noodles in circles, before looking back up at her. “I thought about saying no, but there’s this annoying little voice in the back of my head that kept chanting ‘but what if.’ Sounded annoyingly like you.”

 

Natasha was affronted for a moment but then she was just pleased. “Nice to know I was rubbing off on you at least a little.”

 

“Ngh,” Tony groaned, rolling his eyes. “We’ve lived together for a decade, Natasha.  _Something_  had to rub off on me.”

 

“Well it clearly wasn’t my common sense, otherwise you’d have had more sex,” Natasha said. “When was the last time for you? Six years ago with Pepper? If this doesn’t work out, I’m setting you up on dates again.”

 

Tony stared at her for a long time before waving down a passing waitress. “Miss, could I get the sweetest, fattest dessert you have?”

 

Natasha gasped, mortally offended. How dare he taunt her with food she couldn’t eat like this.

 

.-.-.-.

 

It took six months for Tony to finally gain enough strength in his leg that he didn’t limp. The screws still hurt, sometimes, but the break (shattering) had been so bad that the doctors were hesitant to remove them so soon, if they ever did at all. Tony was only slightly upset about it. It might suck in the winter, when things got cold, but he was honestly a little scared to go back into surgery.

 

He didn’t have to think about that for a while, though. He had other things to focus on. He had a job now, at a high school, teaching science. It wasn’t what his parents had wanted (even Maria had wanted him to go into business) but he was… happy. Happy enough, anyway. He’d always planned on going into teaching, just… not so soon.

 

Luckily his students were great. He’d still been on crutches when he’d gotten the job, but the students had been so kind, opening doors and carrying his things for him until he’d been able to carry them himself. The other teachers were nice, too. The principal, Mr. Fury, was kind of a hardass, but he only wanted the kids to do their best, so Tony could put up with it. He’d struggled his first few months of the job, still depressed from his injury and loss of his career, and having to figure out how to actually teach, but he was pretty settled finally, and it helped that he could carry his own things now.

 

Tony looked down at the box of chocolates in his lap, feeling like an idiot. He was meeting his shoemaker, not going on a date. (Maybe? His tesoro had scratched out the kissing part. He probably shouldn’t put too much stock into it.) He felt a little lost. It felt like this meeting was going to be a turning point in his life, but he couldn’t imagine his life turning anymore than it had when his knee had been shattered.

 

He turned and looked over at Natasha and Steve, who were hiding in plain sight by having a picnic underneath a tree nearby. Natasha rolled her eyes fondly, and Steve waved, and Tony felt himself relax a little. If anything went wrong, they would come help him. He tried not to think about how things might go wrong, instead smoothing his hands over the top of the box. He hoped his shoemaker liked it. He’d never really asked about his favorite foods or anything, but his tesoro had always thanked him whenever he sent him chocolates from his favorite shop. He hoped he hadn’t jumped the gun, buying champagne truffles. (And if he had, he could probably get drunk on them.)

 

He wondered if his response had been too late, if he’d given his shoemaker enough time to come. But he’d feared that if he gave his tesoro too much time, he’d overthink it and back out. He closed his eyes and tried to remember what he’d said in his letter to his shoemaker, written in fevered excitement when he’d made it an entire day without having to use his crutches.

 

_Tesoro mio, I’m sorry to have made you wait so long, but I figured if you could be a little selfish in your letter, I could be a little selfish in mine. I wanted to be able to walk without help when I saw you. I wanted to show you that I’m more than my injury. I wanted to not be broken anymore. Now that I can walk, I’d love to meet you. I’ll be waiting for you in Central Park at one o’clock in the afternoon._

 

He’d given the letter a week and a half. He’d included a map of the park and details of where he’d be waiting. He’d picked a spot where it was quiet but not too secluded, where he could sit on a bench on the sidewalk because he could walk without crutches but it exhausted him, knee throbbing at the end of the day, and walking in the grass was harder on his knee than the cement. There was a coffee cart nearby in case they wanted drinks, and he’d stuffed a couple extra sandwiches into Steve and Natasha’s picnic basket. (He had maybe omitted that he would have Steve and Natasha waiting in the wings in case his shoemaker turned out to be a serial killer in his spare time.)

 

Had a week and a half been enough? Tony checked his watch. It was still ten minutes to one. His shoemaker still had time. Tony had gotten there early so his knee would have time to rest in case his shoemaker wanted to walk, and so Steve and Natasha could get set up and look like they were just picnicking and not lurking nearby in case things went south. His shoemaker had time.

 

But what if he’d changed his mind? What if he didn’t come?

 

Tony smoothed his hands over the box in his lap again and let out a shuddering breath. He’d healed from his injury. Surely, if his shoemaker decided not to show up, he could heal from this too.

 

It took a moment for him to realize a shadow had fallen over him. He looked up, blinking against the light, to find a man leaning over him. The man was tall, and handsome, with a jaw that could probably cut him, and eyes so beautifully gray that he wanted to drown in them. Tony stared up at him, eyes wide, frantically trying to find something to say that wasn’t ‘hng muscles.’

 

“Tony?” the man said hopefully.

 

Tony opened his mouth, then shut it again helplessly. All these years, and he’d never thought to ask for his shoemaker’s name. He swallowed thickly before trying again, choking out, “Tesoro mio?”

 

The man’s lips spread into a wide smile and oh, God, he was even more beautiful now. “Hi, sweetheart,” he said quietly, leaning in toward him.

 

“Hi,” Tony replied dumbly, remembered the box of chocolates he was holding, and shoved them at the man quickly. “These are for you!”

 

“I was wo–oh, uh, thanks.” The man stood up straight and took the box from him, staring at it for a moment. Then he looked back at up him, smiling a little. “Thank you.”

 

Tony tried not to fidget and mostly failed. “You’re welcome. I, um–I can walk. If you want to take one.”

 

“Okay,” the man said. “I’d rather just sit. My knees have been knocking the whole walk here.”

 

Tony wondered if he looked as relieved as he felt. He hoped not. “Okay.” He stared up at the man a little longer before awkwardly patting the seat beside him. The man smiled, amused, and sat down beside him.

 

God. How mortifying. Natasha was going to make fun of him forever. His game was so bad. But did he even need game? This wasn’t a date. He was just meeting the man who’d been making his dancing shoes for the last decade. He wondered if Natasha would consider murdering him when they got home.

 

Tony’s breath hitched when the man reached out and grabbed his chin, tipping his head back so he had to meet his eye. “Oh-!”

 

“Can I kiss you?” the man asked softly.

 

Tony blushed and bit his bottom lip, gasping again softly when the other man’s eyes darted down to look at his mouth before returning to meet his gaze again. “Okay,” he whispered, and was glad for the grip on his chin, otherwise he would have swooned forward like a total dweeb.

 

The kiss followed as soon as the word passed his lips, and the man was gentle for all that he was desperate, only pressing in as far as Tony allowed, nipping his bottom lip softly, tongue dipping teasingly between his parted lips. Tony reached up for his shoulders, unable to help a needy whimper.

 

But then the man was leaning back, licking his lips before smiling down at him. “I’ve been wanting to do that for years, doll.”

 

“Doll?” Tony repeated softly once his brain caught up with what was happening. “Oh, I like that.”

 

“Yeah?” The man leaned in to press another, chaster kiss to his lips. “Guess I’ll have to keep calling you that, then.”

 

“And–” Tony began, then bit his bottom lip. But he couldn’t hide the fact that all he knew the man by was a star for a signature or his own pet name for him. “And what should I call you?”

 

The man leaned back in surprise, then snorted. “Guess I can’t be called ‘Star’ or something like that. My name’s Bucky.”

 

“Bucky,” Tony repeated, feeling the name on his tongue. He thought about it for a while before looking up at him in disgruntlement. “Bucky isn’t a name.”

 

“Hey,” Bucky said, laughing a little. “I didn’t make fun of your name.”

 

“How could you? Tony is an actual name. Bucky is what you would call a dog,” Tony replied immediately. “I’m not going to call you that.”

 

Bucky rolled his eyes, but thankfully he looked amused. “My full name is James Buchanan Barnes.”

 

Tony thought about that for a moment before very seriously telling him, “Somehow, that makes it worse.”

 

“Hey!” Bucky exclaimed, but then he laughed. “Okay, I was named after an American president that literally no one remembers. My mother had high hopes for me, I guess. If not any of the names I’ve offered you,  _what_  are you going to call me?”

 

Tony tilted his head, frowning up at him thoughtfully, before his lips spread into a shy smile. “I could keep calling you ‘tesoro mio.’”

 

Bucky smiled back. “I like the sound of that.”

 

“Guess I’ll just have to keep calling you that,” Tony offered shyly.

 

“Stealing my lines and giving them back to me even better,” Bucky mused. “Guess I’ll have to get used to being one-upped constantly.”

 

“I  _am_  pretty competitive,” Tony agreed, and wondered if he could get away with stealing another kiss.

 

“He is!” Natasha called out from the picnic blanket. “I don’t know how I’ve managed to stand him for almost twenty years!”

 

Tony blushed, mortified all over again. Oh God. Steve and Natasha were still here. They’d probably seen them kiss. He did not turn to look at them. He would not give Natasha the satisfaction of seeing him blush.

 

Bucky glanced over his shoulder at Natasha, amused, before looking back down at Tony and curling an arm around his hunched shoulders. “Honestly, I’m just glad to see you’re okay,” he admitted after a pause. “Hope that doesn’t sound dumb. I was really worried about you.”

 

Tony looked down at his hands, twiddling his thumbs. He really was okay, wasn’t he? Just like Steve had said he would be. Finally, he looked back up at Bucky, managing a soft smile. “I think I’m going to start getting better than okay, tesoro mio. Starting today.”

 

Bucky raised his eyebrows but smiled back at him gamely before looking down at the box he’d set in his lap. “Think we should have one of these truffles to celebrate, doll?”

 

Tony sighed. He really  _did_  like being called ‘doll.’ “Okay,” he agreed, taking one from the box after Bucky offered it to him. He nibbled on it, smiling. He hoped they had more things to celebrate in the future. Bucky made him think they would.

 

“…This is real champagne,” Bucky said after chewing on the truffle thoughtfully for a moment. “What the fuck and you were going to just let me eat a whole box of booze? Did you want me drunk?”

 

Tony snorted some chocolate up his nose and spent the following ten minutes of Bucky apologizing trying to get it out.


End file.
